A tourist in the waking world
by SweetG
Summary: At first Derek sees the nuances through his own power, through his own changes. Through the understanding of blood running in his veins. When he is with Stiles, every single hair on his body will stand on end. Instinct will take over, chant power and threat, claim, claim now; a steady and deafening thrumming under his skin, to the very tips of his nails.


Jackson and Lydia feel it physically in the mostly unobtrusive form of a subdued in force but constant tug just below their navels; they would stop and pour some thought to what that means but one is too busy trying to control whatever the thing that keeps trying to take over him is (unknowingly and unsuccessfully fighting toward his real nature, and against a master that's not the one he rightfully belongs to), and the other is busy fighting for what's left of her sanity, against ancient forces too dark and heavy.

For Scott it is much easier to distinguish, animal side picking up on it since the beginning and granting him the advantage of a different mindset. His four legged side wants to roll over, Scott merely complies because there's not a single reason not to follow this particular instinct.

Allison and Danny, being humans, experience an entirely different proccess. There's nothing that's as glaringly obvious in a corporal sense; what they get, instead, are the raw emotions of fierce protectiveness, of belonging, of admiration, of total and complete trust.

(Even though Danny still doesn't know about anything of what's been going on.)

Stiles is too busy to notice anything, head too filled with the new pack the kanima the hunters his father lydia and how she could promptly lose her shit anytime now.

It's tiring, living inside his brain is tiring.

* * *

At first Derek sees the nuances through his own power, through his own changes. Through the understanding of blood running in his veins. When he is with Stiles, every single hair on his body will stand on end. Instinct will take over, chant power and threat, claim, claim now; a steady and deafening thrumming under his skin, to the very tips of his nails, everything physical and loud and more than enough to know for certain.

He gets it under control through rage (fire, loss, treason). But there's more to it than the recognition of the wolf. There's his rational mind, reminding him of the true strength of the kid.

There's a leak of endless pictures and sounds, of Stiles making the hard choices, bringing them to the table himself, so Scott can remain innocent, and everyone else as unscathed as it can be. There's a lot of the sadness that resides within him, insecurities and pain and longing for his mother and for his father and their relationship the way it was before the lies, so strong he can smell ot all on him, choke on that particular cocktail whenever they are close enough; that sadness, there but never stopping him for more than a beat, never becoming a hindrance, because Stiles won't let it. He's in charge even when he isn't. And he always choses to take care of what must, before anything else (even if it gnaws at his sixteen year old head).

There's the control, the coldness, the compassion. The immense weight on the kid's shoulders all the time that sits there dangerously precarious, teetering, with only so much he can do, and still so many people that he wants to save. That he needs to save.

Derek knows the need.

When he says what he does to Scott, he knows it's utter bullshit. What's more, Scott can probably tell, too, at least on a basic or subconscious level (the way he angles his body towards Stiles for a second, the subtle tilt of his head, the exposure of his neck).

He does it, lies through his teeth, even knowing that it won't work, won't delude this pack for too long. He does it clinging to a little shred of hope. He's young still, young and stupid, and he does things like this from time to time.

As a child that play pretends.

There's the dying voice of the sixteen year old within him that's never really been able to leave, that whispers 'maybe there's a way, maybe there's way to save him from this, a way to get him out of the firing line, give him a way to say no to the enormous responsibility.'

When, a few weeks later, his own beta seeks for Stiles' comfort- his touch, his validation- instead of Derek's in a moment where she truly believes to be dying, he knows that there's no way to stop this anymore.

He, red eyes as bloodied fields, starts to slowly perceive the hold (violent, demanding, a burning brand) inside his chest.

There's no way to stop the tide, when the moon's pull is relentless.

here...


End file.
